Let It Out
by Xirysa
Summary: FE7 The night is cold. The ground is cold. The air is cold. The rain is cold. I am cold, but not as cold as him.


**Xirysa Says:** I wrote this so long, I don't remember when I did. Either way, it's a plausible scenario of sorts. Enjoy!

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Let It Out

-x-x-x-

The night is cold.

The ground is cold.

The air is cold.

The rain is cold.

I am cold, but not as cold as _him_.

My fingers tremble as I kneel down and touch the mound of earth in front of me. Why, I wonder, did it have to be like this? We could have gone into hiding, could have hidden away in the mountains as soon as we found out about the bounty hunters. I would have been fine. The boys would have been alright.

Oh, my boys! Oh, my babies!

How old would they be now, I wonder? They were so tiny back then—only four years old when I left. That would make them about nine now. How time flies…

It's been five years since they last saw their mother, and almost seven since they saw their father.

I smile to myself despite the sorrow. Hadn't I sworn to myself when I was with child—with _children_—that no baby of mine would ever lose its parents like I had mine? What a fool I was.

"Isn't it true, Jaffar?" I whisper to nothing—and no one—in particular. "Even though I'm no longer that silly little girl, I still think like her sometimes."

Half expecting an answer I know I'll never receive, I pause for a moment anyway before continuing.

"A lot has happened since you left, you know. I'm completely literate now. I even worked as a scribe for a bit while I was looking for you—a lot of information comes your way when you have to write it all down to make a living. Last I heard, both of the boys were fine, and magic users, too! Lugh is a mage, and Ray is a shaman! I never thought we'd have a shaman in the family… Apart from Uncle Canas's side, of course."

I shift a bit and make myself as comfortable as I can on the hard earth. "I left them with Brother—well, I guess he might be _Father_ now—Lucius. You remember Lucius, right? He was so nice to everyone…"

Wrapping the thin cloak about me a bit tighter, I continue to talk to the cold night air until the moon gets higher in the sky and the rain starts to fall harder and I don't know how much time has passed.

And frankly, I don't care.

I talk about old friends, the politics in Elibe, about the unease in Bern, who married whom… Everything. I speak until I don't know what to say or how to say it and fall silent as the rain pelts down harder than before. How long I sit like this I cannot say.

Suddenly, my head snaps up at the sound of a twig cracking beneath the heel of a boot. I don't move—I know exactly who it is. It was, after all, thanks to them that I am finally reunited with _him_.

"Still have those ideas for revenge, Matthew?" My voice sounds hoarse and cracked, but I don't care.

He speaks without a moment's hesitation. "Nino."

I laugh. I can't help it, but I do; a small little bark of mirth. "After everything that happened and having not seen each other for over ten years, all you can say is my name?"

"How does it feel to lose a loved one because of the Black Fang?" He speaks so quietly I barely hear him, but I can feel the emotion in his voice.

I decide not to answer.

There is silence, but only for a second. I hear the swish of a cloak and instinctively move to the side a bit as Matthew crouches down beside me.

"…I never thought that it would be possible for the Angel of Death to actually _die_."

My heart feels numb at his words, but I ignore it. "He was only human, after all. Humans are born, they live, and then they die."

"Do you know who killed him?"

I shake my head. "Tell me." It always occurred to me that he would be killed; there was no way he would, or even _could_, die of natural causes.

"He got caught in a fight with a bunch of bounty hunters from Bern. He was fighting against at least a score and a half of men. They had wyverns with them."

"A score and a half?" I absently stroke the ring on my left hand. The lacquer that originally coated it has worn off over the years, but it is still as comfortable as the day he first gave it to me. "At least he went down fighting. He wouldn't have had it any other way."

Nodding silently, he reaches into his cloak. Watching out of the corner of my eye, I see Matthew search for something. He pulls it out and lays it on the earth in front of us. My eyes widen as I realize what it is, and I know he notices it.

"Leila loved white roses. She said that they were pure and untainted. The Ange—_Jaffar_ was told what to do since he was but a babe. If things were different, then I'd be spitting on his grave. But," he places the flower delicately on the ground and stands up. "That's not the way things work."

Raising his arms above his head, the spy stretches until he hears a satisfying _pop_. I turn my head and look back at the pile of earth—his grave.

"Matthew…" He looks at me questioningly, ignoring the rain that plasters his sandy hair—now with a few streaks of silver—to his forehead. "The pain… Does it ever go away?"

As if he were doing it unconsciously, Matthew raises a hand to his heart and clutches it. "It never goes away. The pain will lessen after a while, but it will never go away completely."

I stand up and cross my arms across my chest. "When Leila died, did you wish that you could have gone with her?"

There's a shift in his presence, and I involuntarily tense up as I feel him stand behind me. "I did. Hell, I do everyday when I wake up and realize that I'm never going to see her again. But you… You should know how that feels."

My head droops down shamefully. "Yes, I do."

He scratches his chin, and the rasp of his nails against the stubble reminds me of teasing Uncle Legault when he forgot to shave because he was usually so drunk he couldn't see straight. The memory makes me smile and for a minute, I forget that I am standing in the rain next to my husband's grave with a man who probably used to hate him more than any person I know.

I'm startled when Matthew speaks again. "It's hard to believe that it's been almost fourteen years since the wars ended."

"Mm." I turn to face him. "It is, isn't it? Now we're all old and graying, and it looks like another war's about to start."

Matthew chuckles. "All of us? You're still young; you're not even thirty yet!" He pats my head as if I was fourteen again, and I growl at him jokingly.

"I'm a grown woman with two children, thank you very much. You, on the other hand…" I reach up and pluck a silver strand from his scalp. "You're old."

I smile when Matthew raises a hand to his forehead and says, in an overly-dramatic tone, something about the arrogance and ignorance of youth. He grins at me, and I laugh.

"Some children never grow up, do they?"

He smiles and steps closer to me. "Growing up doesn't mean that you can't let it out."

I can feel the tears, and furiously blink them away. "N-no…" My voice cracks, and I curse myself for allowing my sorrow to be so blatantly obvious.

Without warning, Matthew pulls me to him and presses his lips to my forehead. "You were a good kid, Nino. You're a good woman. I bet he's proud of you, of the woman you've become."

That does it. I collapse to ground, blinded by my tears as they course down my face. Those tears contain so much, yet so little at the same time. My happiness, my sorrow, my pain and suffering, my love for my husband, my love for my children…

I cry and I cry until all my tears are shed and the sun has begun to rise. Matthew holds me the entire time, brushing my hair and making soft, comforting noises under his breath.

When I am done, he smiles at me sadly, and I can see the tracks his own tears have left on his cheeks. He stands up and looks down at me.

"You're still young. You have a lot to live for."

"Matthew…"

He bends down and kisses my forehead again before he presses something into my hands and walks away.

"It's alright to let it out every once in a while," he says as he walks away.

I look down at the white rose in my hands and smile as the tears start anew.

"Thank you, Matthew."

I swear he hears me, because I hear him laugh and whistle a jaunty tune to hide his pain as he gets further away. I lift the rose to my lips and kiss it softly before placing it on the earth beside me.

"I'll never let you go, Jaffar. Just wait for me, okay?"

For the first time in years, I am truly happy.

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**Xirysa Says:** DON'T KILL ME. But… Jaffar had to die. Didn't want him to, but he did. Anyway, I actually _did_ have fun while writing this, and criticism and feedback is mucho appreciated.


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